As I check my Twitter feed one last time before bed, I can expect to read the habitual 'thirsty' Tweets by friends and strangers. Much of these Tweets leave nothing to the imagination. Here I am thinking, curling in the fetal position, and longing for love in a silent, ardent struggle while listening to Fiona Apple. People seem far more liberated when it comes to expressing their wants, especially their sexual desires, at least that's the new mode, when on social networking websites. On this one particular night, I was surprised by the lack of sexual Tweets I read, so surprised in fact, that I needed to Tweet about it myself: ''No one has posted any sexy tweets in the past few minutes. I take it you're all masturbating'' (Bastien).
While this Tweet didn't particularly get a nod, it made me wonder: when did it become okay for me to hop into someone else's bed without having to leave my own? When did I decide I wanted to know everyone's favorite sexual position? Or know the particular reason why a friend of mine's neck and jaw were sore that particular evening? When exactly did I consent to this? Not that this particularly disturbs me; it's kind of an entertaining feeling, or for a lack of a better word, involved; but the dichotomy at work behind this statement and the individual making it does disturb me. Why is it that someone could appear so bold behind block letters, and in real life awkwardly avoid making eye contact with you over mundane, every day sexual topics? If you have the balls to boast about your sexual prowess for all of the world wide web to read, why would making these very statements in the intimacy of an immediate body leave you blushing, embarrassed and looking away? All I'm saying is, if you're quick to type, stop being so prudish when I ask you to talk dirty to me.
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